


Set Sorrows Aside

by Pollyanna



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-24
Updated: 2003-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollyanna/pseuds/Pollyanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparrow has a cunning plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set Sorrows Aside

**Author's Note:**

> Not slash although easy to read between the lines if you so desire. Originally posted 24th December 2003. (Unbeta'd)

Title: Set Sorrows Aside

Author: Pollyanna

Characters: Sparrow, Norrington

Rating: G

 

* * *

Christmas Eve meant some unfortunate souls had to stand watch while the rest of the garrison celebrated. Even as he finished walking his rounds of the sentries, Commodore Norrington wished he was one of them, that some unexpected crisis would mean his duty kept him at the fort. But as Commodore his duty was to turn out for the midnight mass with the other dignitaries of their community, including Governor Swann and his daughter.

He frowned as peals of laughter came from the men's barracks, and then voices swung into a chorus. They sounded drunk already, hardly surprising when most carols contained equal portions of holly and ale, and all they had to celebrate Christmas with in this benighted land was the ale. Some brave souls had decorated the interiors with leaves and berries from the jungles around the town, but in a land that was so profligate with its greenery it seemed a pointless gesture. The sky was dark with low-hanging clouds which made the night feel even hotter than the day. The clean, starched linen he had put on for the evening was already wilting, and no doubt it would rain later making the streets a quagmire. All in all, he would have happily sacrificed several small children to some pagan deity, if it guaranteed a freak snowstorm.

There was an hour or more to kill before he needed to make his way down to the town and he decided that the garrison had the right idea, the only thing that could make the night bearable was a glass - or two - of brandy in his office. He lit only the lamp on his desk, familiar enough with the room to find all he wanted by that single illumination. He took off his sword, hat and wig, ruffling his hand through his close-cropped hair to let cooler air to his scalp. He needed to ask the barber to trim it shorter again, but he had been distracted recently. Pouring himself a generous glass of brandy, he settled back in his chair to dwell on the bleak poverty of his soul.

He had always considered himself a moral man, law-abiding, God-fearing. Any man who sailed the seas found it easy to believe there was something greater than himself. It was possible when poised between the sea and the sky to catch a glimpse of some connection between man and God, drawing the lower up to the higher. But it was on land that the devil came out to play, whispering temptations that began with the words, 'If only.' You never saw the devil, he slipped away into the crowds when you walked among others, and when you were alone he stood in the shadows.

Beyond the pool of light shed by the lamp something stirred. He blinked, but the figure merely resolved itself into one of the devil's own minions. Dressed in outlandish garments, flotsam tangled in his hair, the light glinted off his teeth and drawn sword as he grinned in greeting.

"I wonder that I bother to post guards," the Commodore said tonelessly.

"Ah, don't be like that, Commodore. Your lads do their best, but I am Captain Jack Sparrow, after all."

"To what do I owe the vexation of your visit?"

Sparrow peered at him. "You're not exactly full of good cheer, are you, Commodore?"

Norrington regarded him stonily, before ignoring him in favour of a swallow of brandy.

However Sparrow was the master of ignoring awkward silences and continued on cheerfully, "Since it is the season of goodwill - for most of us anyway - I thought I'd look up some old acquaintances. I've a little something to give to you." He stopped, obviously expecting the Commodore to ask what, but Norrington continued studying his glass. "And, of course, I'll drop in on Will and Elizabeth to give them my best wishes. They've had a rough couple of months so I hear. Will took a fever and was like to die. But you'd have known all about that, of course."

It was a particularly fine brandy. If you tipped the glass to one side then righted it, a film of liquor would cling to the side of the glass for some moments afterwards.

"Oh!" said Sparrow, breath exhaled in a soft puff of revelation. "That's why you're sitting here brooding."

Norrington's eyes lifted from the glass and narrowed in a glare at the pirate. "Exactly what are you implying, Sparrow?"

"Will's been ill and I'll wager a guess that you've been hoping he'd not make it." Sparrow shrugged. "There's no shame in that."

"No shame!" spat out Norrington, slamming the glass down on the desk. The long-simmering hate stirred within him and found a convenient target. "I would not look to a low pirate for lessons in moral rectitude."

Sparrow winced at the 'low' , but continued, "Well he'd have left Elizabeth a grieving widow in all but name, and you there to offer comfort. Only natural that you should consider the possibilities."

"It might be natural." Norrington managed to make the word sound like some particularly embarrassing disease. "But it would not be a thought that would enter the mind of a decent man."

'Ah, that's where you're getting yourself all tied up. Those kind of thoughts, they're the whispers of the devil, and a decent man is as like to hear those as a Low Pirate." Sparrow's emphasis indicated he was still smarting at the adjective. "More so in fact, Old Nick likes a challenge." Sparrow's smile suggested he had a certain fellow feeling with the devil. "After all, it's 'Get thee behind me, Satan' that you find in the Bible, not 'I can't hear yooouu'. If Christ listened, what chance to the rest of us have?"

Norrington was a trifle taken aback by Sparrow's unique interpretation of scripture but not enough to let the words sway him. "I am impressed by your grasp of theological arguments, Sparrow. Did you pick up your platitudes when impersonating clergymen? I imagine your sermons must have left the congregation stunned."

Sparrow preened, but looked regretful as well. "I never did get to give a sermon. If it hadn't been for the bishop's daughter .... Still I never had any problem with the believing bit. A man can't make his life on the sea without knowing there's something greater than himself out there." Sparrow gestured vaguely towards the harbour.

Norrington was shocked to hear the sentiments he had been mulling earlier drop from a pirate's lips, but Sparrow was continuing.

"And there's something smaller than himself too, and that's the devil wanting to drag him down to his level."

"Something you would know all about."

"Oh yes, I've listened often enough, and I've taken that extra step and acted on it. Now you're just a wet behind the ears innocent in these things, so take some advice from an expert, forgive yourself for listening a little too long and move on. Do you think God's hanging round waiting for you to come to your senses so he can forgive you? He's done it weeks ago and is off forgiving bigger fish."

It had been a long time since Norrington had thought of himself as a wet behind the ears innocent or a small fish, and the novelty of the images made him wonder if he had been taking the whole matter a little too seriously. His sins, if they could be called that, were acts of omission, and although it was true that for evil to prosper a good man need do nothing, yet a good man could learn from his mistakes. He regarded the tatterdemalion in front of him, not exactly an angelic messenger but no devil's minion either. Simply a man who despite a disreputable past could still steer the right course, and who could be given a little leeway because of that.

"You mentioned you had something for me?"

Sparrow smiled in delight and rummaged in his voluminous shirt, withdrawing a bag that chinked when he placed it on the desk.

Norrington's momentary lapse of tolerance vanished like a pirate through a traphole, and he snapped out, "Are you attempting to bribe an officer of His Majesty's Navy?"

Sparrow rolled his eyes, and his tone was sharper than usual as he replied, "Of course I'm not. Do you take me for a complete idiot?" He went on quickly as if worried Norrington might reply to his rhetorical question. "I want you to give this money to Will, since it'll look suspicious coming from me. It's a nest egg for him and Elizabeth."

Norrington's brow furrowed. "Won't he still find it a little suspicious if I give it to him?"

"Ah, that's where my genius comes in. Read this letter."

Delving into his shirt again he withdrew a piece of parchment which he gave to Norrington who regarded it dubiously. It was addressed to him in a fine, clear, copperplate hand, but the seal had been broken. He looked a query at Sparrow who just waved at him to open the letter. He unfolded it and looked first at the details of the sender who appeared to be a firm based in Norwich, then he began to read.

_"Dear Commodore Norrington,_

_We are writing on behalf of our client, Bartholomew Jennings late of this parish, in respect to his nephew William Bartholomew Turner. Shortly before his death Mr. Jennings' close acquaintance Captain Moreton, who regaled him with tales of his time in the Caribbean, mentioned a young man, William Turner, who Mr. Jennings believes is his nephew previously presumed dead. Before he passed away, Mr Jennings commissioned us to pass on a certain sum of money to his nephew."_

Norrington looked up puzzled. "What in the world is all this, Sparrow? Why is a letter addressed to me opened, and why did Jem Moreton never mention to me that he knew Will's uncle?"

"Ah well, probably because he's never heard of Bartholomew Jennings," said Sparrow ingenuously.

Norrington looked at the letter again. "This is a forgery."

"I do like a sharp mind, saves on explanations."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Sparrow, but this needs some explanation," said Norrington, putting the letter down firmly on the desk.

Sparrow sighed in disappointment, but dutifully launched into his story. "Now, old Bart was - or is, dunno if the old codger's really dead or not - Will's uncle. He was a bachelor and worked as a silk merchant out of Norwich. His only sister, of whom he was right fond, was Will's mother. Like as not he'd have adopted Will if the lad hadn't run away to sea first. I got all this from old Bootstrap, you understand?"

"I'm managing to follow you so far, Sparrow," said Norrington with what he considered commendable patience.

"So Will wouldn't be surprised at his uncle sending him some money. But how would the uncle have known Will was still alive? That's where your old captain Jem Moreton is my masterstroke. He moved to Norwich and of course, you'd have kept in touch with him, and written all about the strange goings on with the Aztec Gold. He'd have been only too glad to have some new tales for his boon companion Bart Jennings. Will Turner gets mentioned. Bart goes to lawyers. Lawyers contact you since you know Will and you're a respectable man who can be relied on. The only loose end was old Bart so I had to kill him off or Will would have tried to write and thank him."

Norrington picked up his glass and took a sip of brandy while he thought through the ramifications of the story. It did appear to hold together, strangely enough.

"What made you think of giving the gold to Will in the first place?"

"Because he has the common sense of a whelk," said Sparrow with a grimace of disgust. "When I took my little dive that day." He mimed a graceful swan dive with his free hand. "I left Will and Elizabeth behind and thought they'd be married within the month. I felt sorry for you, mate, since you're not a bad bloke, when you're not trying to hang me that is, but they'd made their choice. True love would triumph." He mimed quotation marks around 'true love' as he spoke.

Despite himself, Norrington found himself defending the couple. "I do not think anyone could have any doubt about the depths of affection in which they hold each other."

Sparrow made a rude noise with his lips, then held up his hand to stop Norrington speaking again.

"Don't get your breeches in a twist, mate. We're just dealing in different coin. Some people treat love like it's some rare jewel that you only find by pure chance. Now, I'm thinking it's more like a flower you pluck from the wayside. I say 'I love you' to all the women I bed. They're pretty words and make them all the more willing, and they're even true since I'll not deny I love a willing woman." He looked away with a nostalgic smile, his mind obviously distracted by many happy memories.

Norrington regarded the pirate with the horrified curiosity he usually reserved for some of the stranger fish in the market. "Women must slap you a lot," he stated baldly.

Sparrow's head jerked around in startlement, and his eyes narrowed. The Commodore kept a straight face, except for an eyebrow he let rise in a gesture of mild enquiry.

Sparrow wrapped dignity around him like a drunk donning a tattered cloak. "As I was saying," he paused, as if daring his listener to speak, but Norrington merely leant back and took another sip of his brandy. "Some people value love higher than others. Will and Elizabeth now, they've decided that their's is the love of a lifetime, but do they do anything about it? No! And don't interrupt."

Norrington had opened his mouth to mention the small matter of cursed gold and stolen ships, but was intrigued enough by this insight into the pirate's mind that he waved his glass in a gesture to proceed.

"They go along for years, letting society keep them at arm's length. Then they get out and see a bit more of the world." Norrington almost choked on his brandy at the pirate's idea of a bit more of the world. He made it sound like the Grand Tour. "So, circumstances being what they are, they finally agree they should get married, and that's as far as they get. I doubt Will has even tumbled the girl yet."

"He'd better not have," growled Norrington, the shadows of the room growing darker in the edges of his vision.

Sparrow spread his arms wide, his sword narrowly missing a clock that sat on a nearby table. "Idiots, the lot of you. I thought Elizabeth had a smidgen more sense, but when Will suggests they wait until he's saved enough money to buy a house before they marry, she agrees. She's the only daughter of the Governor; I doubt there's a richer prize in the Caribbean. If she was a ship I'd have boarded her long ago." He stopped and reflected for a moment before continuing gloomily, "Except she'd probably have enough cannon on board to sink the fleet."

Norrington found himself momentarily distracted by the vision of Elizabeth as a galleon in full sail, but rallied to contradict the pirate. "You wouldn't understand, Sparrow. A woman could have little respect for a man willing to live on her money, and a gentleman ensures he can provide for a woman before he proposes." He remembered his own hesitation in asking Elizabeth. The promotion so newly conferred gave the promise of higher pay and a greater share of any prizes, but all in the future. It would, in all likelihood, have been a long engagement. "No man of any character would risk subjecting his love to the hardships of poverty." It was unsettling to find himself aligned with Turner, although given the moral standards of his audience perhaps unsurprising.

"I reckon she'd be willing to give up all her wealth to live a year with him in poverty. A month even, or a day after almost losing him. Now I'll admit it wasn't Will's fault that he took ill, but if he'd died what would all their airs and graces have left her then? Nothing."

Norrington's thoughts unwillingly went to memories of Elizabeth during the illness. Pale and somehow smaller, all her vivacity diminished like a guttering candle, she seemed a ghost of herself. He had few memories to draw on, since he had avoided her at that time. The sight of her distress had unmanned him, and his shame at his own selfish desires had left him unable to offer any honest comfort. He had not been a good friend to her at a time she had needed that support from him. Was that the measure of his love? A miserly thing that would only give when it received something in return. He wondered what charming simile the pirate would find for that.

He looked up to find the pirate watching him silently. As their eyes met, the pirate gave him a lopsided smile, before prattling on as if he'd merely paused to take breath.

"Now the pair of them can be more trouble than they're worth, but they did do me some small favours. So I thought I could just ease their way a little, with an early wedding present. Early wedding. Hah, that's a neat play on words." Sparrow seemed dazzled by his own brilliance.

Norrington had recovered his equanimity and took advantage of the pirate's preening to say, "Your generosity with other people's money is truly moving, to say nothing of your modesty in refusing to take credit for the gift. Surely Will should know the name of his benefactor?"

"I can't give it directly to him, because he'll be thinking, 'Pirate loot. Can't be having anything to do with that.' "

"How astute of him, since that's just what I'm thinking," said Norrington dryly.

Sparrow tapped the side of his nose. "But I've thought of that, mate. Took the money off a Spanish ship. And robbing the Spanish, well that's practically patriotic, isn't it?"

Norrington gave him a look expressive of his considerable doubts concerning the pirate's patriotism, and opened the bag. Taking out a handful of coins he examined them, before replacing them with a sigh.

"These are English guineas, Sparrow."

"Well, the lawyer would hardly send on Spanish doubloons, would he? That would look downright suspicious. I exchanged them. Are you always this difficult?" he finished plaintively.

"Let me see. I have a pirate in my office, holding me at swordpoint, and asking me to pass on stolen goods under false pretences to an innocent third party. Oh I almost forgot, the goods in question were stolen from a sovereign state with whom we are currently at peace. I think I am justified in raising the odd objection."

Sparrow started waving his sword about as he spoke, although Norrington noted it was more as an aid to emphasis than as a threat. "There you go again with the 'stolen goods'. Now you're a Devon man, aren't you?" He didn't wait for confirmation before continuing, which was just as well since Norrington was dumbstruck at how much information the pirate had found out about him. "Now Drake, he was from Devon, and most of the time he was out acquiring Spanish gold there weren't no wars for an excuse. And he ended up knighted."

"I somehow doubt I will become a 'Sir' by passing on this gold," said Norrington with a wry grimace.

"Ah, now you're thinking about passing it on."

Norrington was silent. He unfolded the forged letter and read it through carefully. This could work. The story was plausible, England was far enough away that it would be impossible to check details, and Turner would never suspect the true source of the money if Norrington was the one to hand it to him. Elizabeth would be respectably married, temptation would be removed, and he could even envisage a future where he and the Turners might settle into a comfortable friendship.

Sparrow placed one hand on the desk, his sword resting casually on his shoulder as he leaned forward.

"It would be a good deed." he whispered, his head cocked to one side. "A thrice fold good deed."

"Thrice fold?" Norrington found his own tones were lowered in reply.

"Will and Elizabeth get set up in their new life together. The Spaniards have less gold to buy weapons with, so you're helping maintain the peace. And if you don't take it, then some notorious pirate will spend it all on rum." He reached out to the bag, but Norrington was quicker and pulled it towards his side of the desk. He gave it a comforting pat.

"Poor gold, I must save you from a fate worse than death."

Sparrow was surprised into a snort of laughter at the Commodore's unexpected whimsy. The Commodore himself felt more light-hearted than he had in weeks. The legality of the whole affair was suspect, which was only to be expected considering the source of the plot, but morally he felt he had found safe harbour at last.

Sparrow smirked at having won the day, but couldn't resist a further sally.   
"Shouldn't you put that away somewhere safe, Commodore. There could be some shady types lurking around." He paused before adding, "They let all sorts into this fort nowadays."

Norrington refused to rise to the lure, merely stating, "You are a most provoking individual, Captain Sparrow."

He turned towards a chest at the back of the room and taking a key from his pocket unlocked it. Placing the small sack and letter in the chest, he fastened the lock again and turned, only to find Sparrow standing right behind him.

"Provoking, Commodore? You've not seen me even try to be provocative yet." And with those words, Sparrow ran his hand over Norrington's hair.

Norrington stepped back so fast he came close to tripping over the chest and ending up on his back at Sparrow's feet. His words came out as quickly as his retreat. "What in the world do you think you're doing?"

Sparrow gave a lazy smile. "I was just curious. I've been wondering what you keep under that wig of yours. It looks like it should have the feel of stubble, but instead it's as smooth as a sea otter's pelt."

The Commodore's voice was icy. "I feel compelled to remind you that curiosity killed the cat."

"Ah, but a cat has nine lives. Don't you ever wonder what mine feels like?"

The temperature in the room actually seemed to drop with the Commodore's next words. "I can safely say, Sparrow, that the thought of touching your hair has never crossed my mind before this precise moment."

"Hmmm," hummed Sparrow happily. "That's the rub, isn't it, Commodore? Before."

For one wild moment Norrington regretted that his own hair was so short, since he felt it would have given him some relief to pull it out in handfuls. "I would strongly advise leaving before you only have eight lives to gamble with."

"That's not a very seasonal wish," said Sparrow with a perfect expression of injured innocence.

"Now, Sparrow!"

Sparrow fled gracefully to the door, where he turned, a pale shadow against the darkness of the courtyard beyond. "I'm thinking it's more like four lives anyway. There was that time in Singapore ... now then, Commodore, no need to go for your sword. 'Tis the time for peace on earth, goodwill towards all ... I'm leaving, I'm leaving." And the door shut.

The room seemed smaller and much quieter without the presence of his visitor, although he had to admit Sparrow had been quite restrained given his usual exuberance, except for that last lamentable gesture. His eyes fell on the clock which had escaped decapitation and was now showing half ten, time for him to start making his way to the church. He should be early enough to exchange greetings with the Governor before they proceeded into the service, not forgetting the Governor's daughter and her fiance. He picked up the lamp, and walked over to the small mirror in the corner of the room, where he had left his wig and hat on a table.

Setting down the lamp, he moved instinctively to smooth down his hair before replacing his wig, but his hand stopped in mid-air, arrested by the thought of the last hand that had touched him. He was hard put to say whether it was mild distaste or some more complex emotion that made him reluctant to retrace the memory of that touch, but he replaced the wig without his usual gesture. The hat was next and he straightened both unconsciously until his usual unruffled appearance was achieved, and he finally looked at the man in the mirror. A man, just a man. Angels and demons didn't walk the earth, only those who listened to the quiet voice of conscience, or those who let evil rule them.

He blew out the lamp and left the room, a sudden urge making him take the nearest set of steps to the battlement. The clouds had blown away, and the breeze brought a fresh coolness to the night. Looking down at the harbour he saw only the usual ships, and no black sails danced on the horizon. He could almost believe his visitor had been imaginary, except for the gold in his office, and an inexplicable contentment in his heart. From the men's quarters a sweet voice rose, one of the wives perhaps, or a boy whose voice still kept its child's register. The song was a carol he remembered from his own youth.

_  
Aye, and therefore be merry,_

_Rejoice and be you merry,_

_Set sorrows aside!_

_Christ Jesus, our Saviour,_

_Was born on this tide.  
_

He closed his eyes and the familiar words and salty smell of the sea weaved a dream where he stood in a strange land and yet was at home. The dream was slow to fade as he descended the steps and the song followed him as he walked through the gates down the road to town. On his way to make peace with God and man.

THE END


End file.
